


Panic

by AceLotti



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Panic Attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 10:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/550620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceLotti/pseuds/AceLotti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Derek comes to Stiles’ aid after a rather horrible nightmare</p>
            </blockquote>





	Panic

Stiles tossed and turned restlessly in bed, the sheets wrapped and tangled around his legs. The dream he was having…well, more of a nightmare…was dark. Stiles couldn’t see, but he could hear screams of terror, and people screaming for help. Stiles reached out to the darkness, trying to help, but he felt as if he couldn’t move. He felt helpless.

The screams were getting louder and louder. Stiles was starting to recognize voices. Scott’s. Danny’s. His Father’s. Lydia’s. Erica’s. Isaac’s.

…His mom?

Stiles sat up straight in bed screaming, his face damp from tears that came during the nightmare. He couldn’t calm down, the room was spinning, he couldn’t stop screaming and he couldn’t get out of these damn sheets. 

He finally scrambled free, crawling across the room to his trash can and throwing up into the bin. Once the contents of his stomach was gone, Stiles pulled himself up. He still felt like he couldn’t breathe, like he was having another panic attack. The screams were still in his head, echoing like a broken record without stopping. Stiles opened his bedroom window and stuck his head outside into the cold, trying to get air, trying to cool off, trying to breathe.

Finally, things stopped spinning and Stiles dropped to the floor by his window, leaning his head on the windowsill and just cried, his knees pulled up to his chest. Where the panic attack had come from, he didn’t know, but he hated he was alone right now. 

Across town, Derek sat up in bed, his face drained, his heart hammering. Something was wrong, but he didn’t know what. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on his pack. Isaac was asleep in the room down the hall. Peter was downstairs, up late again, on the computer doing research most likely. They were both fine. 

Erica and Boyd were in their respective homes, fast asleep. Jackson was with Lydia, up late again…

Then what was wrong?

Derek got out of bed and got dressed. Being pack meant you had emotional connections with your members, if no one in his pack was worrying, why was he? He left the house without a word and walked in the woods. 

He broadened his search, the link he had with different people in town. Scott wasn’t pack, but Derek and him had bonded (and un-bonded and re-bonded again) and he had kept his link with him, just in case. Derek would always feel responsible if something were to ever happen to Scott. But he was home and asleep as well. 

He walked by the Argent’s house, out of range of any lights, but t didn’t matter, Chris and Allison were out of town for the summer. Derek sighed and closed his eyes. Trying to focus. 

The last one left to check on was Stiles, but what could be wrong with him? He wasn’t a werewolf, wasn’t faced with the same dangers they were faced with. Derek rubbed his temples and continued walking. 

It was when he was three blocks from the Stilinski house did he notice it. The heavy thumping of a frightened heartbeat. The smell of salt and vomit. The sound of someone…crying?

“Shit,” Derek swore and he ran the rest of the way to Stiles’ house, not bothering to check if the Sheriff was home as he climbed up the drain pipe to Stiles’ room. “Stiles?” he found the boy curled up under the window, sobbing hysterically, trying to catch his breath. Derek though he had been attacked, and he swung himself into the room through the window, crouching down next to Stiles. “Stiles, did something hurt you? What is it?” he looked the boy over, but he didn’t seem to be injured. “Stiles!” He took a breath and smelled the fear and anxiety waving off of Stiles. He also got the scent of panic, and Derek’s mouth made a small ‘O’ in understanding. 

Stiles wasn’t hurt, physically. He was having a panic attack. 

Stiles leaned forward and held onto Derek. “Shh, it’s okay Stiles,” Derek sighed, sitting on the floor, wrapping his arms around Stiles awkwardly. 

“Don’t….leave…” he begged through heavy breaths. 

“I won’t, I promise, just breathe Stiles, I’m here,” Derek said. They sat there, Derek’s back against the bed, Stiles curled into his side, for over an hour until Derek was sure the panic he felt coming off of Stiles wasn’t another attack, but just the aftershocks of the main event. “Stiles?” Derek asked after a painfully quiet minute or two. Stiles huffed in response, still shaking. “Stiles let’s get up, okay, you smell like sweat and vomit…” and fear and embarrassment. 

“Sorry,” Stiles mumbled.

“No it’s alright, but we should get you cleaned up, come on,” he practically lifted Stiles up off the ground, the boy didn’t use much effort and sat him on the bed. Derek took the trash can and tied up the bag. “Your dad home?” Stiles shook his head. “Alright I’ll be right back, change your shirt okay?” Stiles didn’t respond, he merely looked down at his feet. Derek sighed and ran down stairs, tossing the bag of vomit in the outside bin before coming back upstairs with a bottle of water he found in the fridge. He detoured to the bathroom and found a wash cloth, wetting it before going back to Stiles’ room.

Well he tried. The old shirt, damp with sweat, laid on the floor at his feet and a new one was in his hands, but Derek could see now how violently Stiles’ was shaking. “It’s okay,” Derek said quickly, not wanting to start another panic attack. He walked over and took the new shirt, sitting next to the boy on the bed. “Come here,” he took the wash cloth and pressed it, cool and damp, to the back of Stiles’ neck. Stiles sighed audibly and his head dropped forward, relaxing just at the touch of the cloth. Derek moved to run it down his back and over his shoulders. 

“Here,” Derek said, handing the water bottle to Stiles. “Sips, okay?” 

“Okay,” Stiles said and Derek never thought he’d be so grateful to hear the boy talk. He continued with the wash cloth and ran it down Stiles’ chest and up to his neck. “Thank you,” Stiles said after sipping half the water bottle. “How did you…”

“I just knew,” Derek said and he hoped that would be enough of an explanation for now, because it was the truth. “How are you?”

“Better…” Stiles said. His heartbeat was still too fast, but Derek figured that to be adrenaline from the panic. “That feels good, I’ll have to remember that for the next time…”

“You get these often?” Derek asked in surprise.

“Well my last one was about five years ago, but I mean…” Stiles sipped again from his water. “My best friend is a werewolf and my life is in danger on a weekly basis as of late, I’ve been kind of expecting one to happen sooner or later…”

“I’m sorry…” Derek said. 

“Not you’re fault, actually,” Stiles said and a ghost of a smile curved on Stiles’ face. The water bottle was empty now and the cloth had been put to the side for now. Stiles was helped into his new shirt. “I should go back to sleep…”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Derek said. He had promised he wouldn’t. 

“I was hoping you’d say that…” Stiles smiles again as he lied back on his bed, still too warm for the covers. Derek had fixed it so that only the comforter was laying on the mattress, the sweaty sheets piled in the corner. Stiles imagined his father’s face when he’d do the laundry later, the guilt that Stiles had had another attack and he wasn’t there, and then Stiles would feel guilty for making him feel guilty. 

“Calm down,” Derek commanded from Stiles’ computer chair. “Whatever you’re thinking about is making your heart race.”

“Sorry,” Stiles squeaked. He settled himself in the bed more, squirming until he was comfortable. He could feel Derek watching him. “Are you going to sit in that chair and watch me all night?”

“Did you have another suggestion?” Derek asked. Stiles looked at the empty space next to him in bed. “No.”

“C’mon, there’s enough room! Scott, Isaac, and I all fit on here the other day when we were playing XBox,” Stiles patted the bed. Derek huffed and then removed his shoes and his jacket, lying on the bed next to Stiles. “See? Much better.”

“Mhmm,” Derek said, folding his hands across his stomach. “Do you need anything?”

“No, I’ll be okay.” Stiles said, turning on his side, facing Derek, his eyes closed. “Thank you, for coming. I don’t know how you knew I needed help but…”

“You shouldn’t have to be alone through something like that,” Derek said, remembering how Stiles looked when he first climbed in the window that night. “Go to sleep Sties.”

“Alright,” Stiles wasn’t up for protesting. He squirmed a little more, his head touching Derek’s shoulder barely. “You go to sleep too. Goodnight Derek.”

Derek looked down at the boy whose face was pressed up to his shoulder. “Goodnight Stiles.”


End file.
